I have sponsored and been sponsored. Long-sober members often describe their sponsors with reverence. But if they talk long enough, they sometimes admit that the person who first helped them get sober is no longer sober themselves. This was true of AA founder Bill W., whose original spiritual sponsor Ebby Thatcher did not stay sober for long. I myself owe my own life to a sponsor who dropped out of the program shortly after I got sober.

I’ve heard others say that nothing is harder work than opening the door of your first meeting. That was true for me anyway. When I finally pushed through that door, I was met by six people. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was surprised to see how “normal” everyone looked. I may have looked perfectly normal also, but I was dying of addiction. As soon as the others began telling their stories, I experienced for the first time the hope that I could step away from addiction and—by following their examples—live in complete sobriety.

I noticed one sober man in particular. He was older than I was, and he had five years of sobriety. Only one member had longer sobriety than that. The nature of the older man’s struggles matched mine, so I felt comfortable approaching him, and I asked him to be my sponsor. I was surprised when he said he had never sponsored anyone before, but he immediately accepted. I was beaming with pride to leave the meeting with such a fine sponsor.

My new sponsor did not insist that I do anything other than attend meetings and call him at any time. For six months I called him frequently, and he answered all my questions with an easy confidence. He was always there for me. No matter how busy, he always answered or returned my calls. He was humble and sincere, and very conscientious about carrying the same message that his long-sober sponsor had carried to him.

We worked the Steps briskly at first, but as time passed I decided to impress him with how seldom I called, because I seriously believed that was proving how strong my recovery was! My patient sponsor remained friendly toward me and was quick to help me when I periodically returned to working the Steps. I struggled for years, taking only half-measures and continually relapsing. Looking back, I see that my sponsor was not the kind to use scare tactics or demand strict discipline. I had heard others boast about sponsors who spit commands like drill sergeants and fired any sponsee who did not meet their standards. My sponsor on the other hand was pretty much “let go and let God.” By taking an “Easy Does It” approach with me, I think he really helped me find my Higher Power in my own way. I doubt I would be alive if he had not slowed down and taken the time I needed to uncover my Higher Power.

When I finally worked the Twelve Steps fully and without reservation, I got sober. I was utterly amazed, but my sponsor smiled knowingly. He could see that I had finally let go. And I had let God. After that, we talked more freely and easily. He no longer seemed like a superhuman to me. We were trudging the road of Happy Destiny, side by side.

Then one night something strange happened: my sponsor wasn’t at the meeting. His absence lasted several weeks, but I was not immediately concerned because we did not talk routinely. Then one evening he came in looking more somber than I had ever seen him. When it was time for sobriety chips to be handed out, he picked up a white one to signify restarting the program.

I was stunned. He looked as matter-of-fact as ever. “I’ve been trying half-measures for the last few months,” he said grimly, “and I slipped.” The room was mostly empty that night, and his words rang with a hollow sadness inside me. My sponsor had slipped.

Matters grew worse. He failed to come back. I phoned him, but he did not respond. I followed his example of letting go and letting God—this time in his recovery instead of mine. But he stayed gone, returning only once, about a year later, to say he still needed the program very much. I felt intensely relieved, for I still regarded him as a priceless source of knowledge and wisdom about recovery. I even planned to ask him to become my sponsor again once he built up a little sobriety. Unfortunately, I have never seen him since that one last meeting.

For a time I felt sad. I still had my Higher Power. I was still sober. I still knew how to work the Steps. Wasn’t that also true for him? Eventually, I knew I needed to choose another sponsor. I called and left a phone message asking my first sponsor if he understood, but he never replied.

My new sponsor was a lifesaver. Although I was sober, I was still learning to apply the Steps to my daily life. Many times a phone call to him helped pull me back from the brink. He always said the right thing to bring my focus back onto my Higher Power. I soon came to treasure his wisdom and encouragement.

Then just as suddenly as my first sponsor, he was gone. This time, there was no follow-up appearance at a meeting. No call. No email. I could tell from social media that he had not fallen off the face of the earth. But he was gone from my recovery life.

Strangely, this second disappearance did not disturb me as strongly as the first. My second sponsor had insisted that I study, learn, and live the literature as written. When he was gone, I felt he was still with me somehow. And it seemed his influence was directly benefitting the men I sponsored.

I have since seen other sponsors who were shining examples of sobriety, but who inexplicably flickered or vanished. Whenever that happens, I still feel genuine surprise—until I remember the one true Source of hope in my recovery. While the world may place certain people on a higher plane, the Twelve Step program is quite clear about its hierarchy. There is only one Higher Power. The rest of us—including sponsors—occupy a single, flat level below that.

I’m told that the only message I can carry is that the Twelve Steps work when I work them. That remains my sole message. My sponsors taught me that, but they also showed me the results of not working the program. I hold no ill will against these fine sponsors, and I’m grateful for everything they taught me.

Maybe my experience can benefit others whose sponsor is no longer available. I can speak firsthand that there is still hope. None of my first three sponsors still attend meetings, but I have remained sober. The principles have worked even when particular personalities faltered.

I don’t want anyone to believe that a sponsor’s slip is cause for giving up hope. God as I understand Him works in mysterious and manifold ways. When I sponsor others, I make sure that they know which part of the literature I base my answers on. I do not aspire to be a book-thumping sponsor. But I want to make very sure that every sponsee has the information needed to carry on should I ever stop working my program. Some need to hear this principle repeatedly before it sinks in: “Principles before personalities.”

I have a new sponsor today, but I know that I owe my sobriety to my reliance on a Higher Power.